


The Impossible

by LouPF



Category: Kaptein Sabeltann | Captain Sabertooth - Formoe
Genre: Dinner, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mermaid Sabeltann, Reminiscing, Romantic Fluff, Stargazing, non-human Sabeltann, petnames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: It's Pinky's birthday, and Sabeltann has arranged a romantic dinner for him. They end up stargazing and talking of better days.
Relationships: Kaptein Sabeltann/Pinky
Kudos: 1





	The Impossible

There are hands on Pinky's skin.

There is also sand in his boots. "I have sand in my boots," he says, because he's no liar.

Sabeltann, the owner of the hands, laughs. "Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pinky asks, jokingly offended.

"Oh, nothing, dear," says Sabeltann lightly, his fingers on Pinky's wrists twitching.

Pinky rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. He can feel Sabeltann's amusement through the touch. There's silence for a moment. Waves roll in the distance; Pinky cocks his head to better listen. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"

"The beach," says Sabeltann.

"Really?" says Pinky drily, and flexes his sand-covered toes. "I never would've figured."

A helpless little chuckle. "Patience, my sweet, patience. You'll learn soon enough."

"Sometimes," Pinky says, "I regret making the first move."

"And then you remember how dazzlingly handsome I am?"

"And then I remember how dazzlingly handsome you are."

Sabeltann laughs, loud and real, and Pinky can't help the soft smile he feels spread over his face. They walk only a few steps more, Sabeltann steadying Pinky when he stumbles in a loose root he - naturally - can't see.

"Okay," Sabeltann eventually says, "hold still." He moves behind him, hands gentle against his hair. After a bit of fumbling, the cloth tied around Pinky's head is pulled off and away.

Pinky blinks at the bright light, squinting as he tries to adjust. Indeed, they are on a beach - sandy, some shrubbery creeping up to the sand but stilling there. He knows the Grim Lady must be nearby - he'd been aboard her as recently as half an hour ago, after all - but due to the formation of the beach, he can't see her.

That isn't important, though. In the sand stands an improvised table - an overturned barrel with a white cloth thrown over it - joined by two crates similar to the ones they use as chairs on the deck of the Lady. Steaming plates are on the table, along with a single lit candle. The sunset against the dark-blue sea lights the scene in a muted, golden hue.

"Oh," says Pinky, very softly, very kindly.

"Happy birthday," Sabeltann whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to Pinky's temple. "Sponsored by Gusto."

"Is it..." Pinky asks, fingers curling loosely around Sabeltann's, resting on his waist.

"Buttered chicken? Of course," says Sabeltann, and squeezes lightly.

Pinky's favourite. "I love you," he says.

"Anything for you." Sabeltann steps towards the table.

Suddenly it makes sense why he's dressed up.

Pinky picks at his own shirt, hoping to brush off some of the salt he knows is there. They returned home to Abra just today, and he'd been working close to the gunwale the whole day. Water has coated him more than once. Terribly flustered, he follows Sabeltann to the table. "I'm sorry I'm not better dressed," he says, not quite meeting Sabeltann's eyes.

Sabeltann, who'd waited for Pinky to sit before getting seated himself, gives him a look. "I gave you no warning, Pinky. It's been a long day, don't worry about it - I want you to enjoy yourself. Okay?" He reaches across the table to gently take Pinky's hand. "Can you do that?"

"I want to look good for you," Pinky protests, but it's weak, and they both know it. He's learned to trust his captain in matters like these. If there was a problem, Sabeltann would tell him.

"And you do, my star. Every day. Always." He smiles, his eyes wrinkling in that specific way Pinky has ever only associated with him. "The food's getting cold."

Pinky startles, reaching hurriedly for the cutlery. He takes a few bites, ducking his head over the _delicious_ chicken to hide his thoughtful expression. "Thank you," he says, quietly. He knows Sabeltann glances up at him without having to look. "I don't know how you keep doing this."

"Doing what?" Sabeltann asks. His voice is also quiet; there's a gentle concern in his tone.

 _Loving me_ , Pinky doesn't say. "Surprising me," he says instead, smiling. "Making me feel special, I guess."

Maybe it's the setting sun casting strange shadows across Sabeltann's face, and maybe it's just that he dares to look at Pinky like he carved the moon, but his words are weighted when he says, "It's because you are."

And Pinky believes him.

Later, when they've finished eating - ("Do we bring it back to the inn?" - "No, Gusto said he'd collect it.") - Sabeltann grabs Pinky's hand and pulls him along the beach. It's the late hours of twilight, the warmth of summer still trembling in the air. "I want to show you something," says Sabeltann, and kisses him with sweet lips.

Pinky giggles into his mouth and lets himself be pulled along further, stumbling in the sand. Sabeltann steadies him, laughing, and kisses him again.

He takes him to a little alcove, shaped by the water in ancient times. Now it lies dry, right by the sand - shielded from view from Abra, the harbour, and any curious souls that may be walking about. "I used to come here often," says Sabeltann, and drags Pinky down to sit in his lap, hands folding around him. Pinky melds against him, happily tucking his head beneath Sabeltann's chin. "A few decades ago, the water was higher - just high enough to make it possible to rest here, with water to my chest." He's quiet for a moment; Pinky reaches up to tangle his fingers in his hair. "It's one of my favourite places."

"Why?" Pinky asks, curious.

And Sabeltann leans down to whisper against his skin, "Look up."

And Pinky does. A soft little, "Oh," escapes his lips at the sight of the world unfurled above him. He's seen the stars often enough before, but – there's something about them, now, like the veil between worlds is thinner than usual.

"It's the light from Abra," Sabeltann explains, lacing his fingers with Pinky's. "Shielded, yet not. And the ocean is strong here." With his other hand, he traces gentle circles against Pinky's thigh.

Pinky closes his eyes, intent to just feel. "Thank you for showing me," he whispers. His heart thrums through his chest, warm and lazy, bearing none of the Pinky's uncertainties – none of the self-consciousness or fear. "I love you," he adds, because one can never say that enough. Especially not when one feels like this.

"I love you, too," Sabeltann replies, shifting to nuzzle the top of Pinky's head. "More with every day that passes."

Pinky is about to respond to that, but it occurs to him, very abruptly, that he's barely seen Sabeltann all day. "How was your day, actually?" he asks.

Surprised silence, then a bout of helpless giggles from Sabeltann. "Back to small-talk? Really? Something you're trying to tell me, love?"

"Not at all, dear captain mine," says Pinky, grinning though Sabeltann can't see it, "I just remembered I haven't seen you all day, and I'm curious." He turns to rest his head on Sabeltann's shoulder, glancing up at him through his bangs.

Sabeltann doesn't look at him, expression not _quite_ conflicted, but not quite _not_ , either. "Pinky," he says, and stops, considering. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

Pinky's heart constricts, and he swallows, shifting, throwing an arm around Sabeltann's chest to semi-hug him, semi-press his own nose against his neck. He doesn't answer; can't – he knows when Sabeltann lies to him.

He isn't lying now.

"I mean it!" Sabeltann exclaims, apparently taking Pinky's too-gay-to-function response as his disbelief. "I mean it, angel. You're the most important thing in my life. More important than the Lady, than gold, and gems, and jewels. I'd give it all up for you."

Pinky sniffles. "I'm no poet," he whispers, a half-choked apology for not having a response. "I'm no poet, captain, you know that."

"I don't expect you to be," Sabeltann soothes, brushing his fingers against Pinky's cheek – tucking some hair away behind his ear. "I just want you to be happy."

Pinky's breath hitches. _I love you_ , he doesn't say, _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , he doesn't say. He does say, "I think I want to marry you."

Sabeltann tenses and Pinky immediately regrets saying the words out loud. It's not the first time he's thought them – not the first time he's dreamed, or wished, or hoped – though he should've known better. Should've known pretty words don't mean anything _binding_ , however truthful they are.

But when Sabeltann speaks, the words tremble with choked hope. "Do you mean that?"

Pinky swallows. Swallows. "If you want me to."

"Do you want me to want you to?"

 _Yes!_ yells Pinky's heart. _Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!_ He doesn't look at Sabeltann when he answers, a quiet little, "Maybe…"

Sabeltann pulls away from him, placing palms flat against his cheeks, gaze searching his. "Pinky, _please_ ," he whispers. "Please. Tell me the truth."

Pinky traces trembling fingers down Sabeltann's exposed neck, lingering at the familiar, muted splotches of his markings. "Yes," he says, "yes, I want – I would quite like – to. Marry you. Yes. But it's just – it's just me, you don't have to – if you don't want, which you don't, I –"

Sabeltann kisses him. He's trembling, lips and hands and all. "I," says Sabeltann, when he pulls back, eyes half-lidded, "would quite like to marry you, too, Pinky."

"Don't say that just because I want to hear it," Pinky says, even though he knows he's not– he can tell – Sabeltann never trembles, not unless it's something important.

Sabeltann scoffs. "Don't be an idiot," he says and kisses him again. "When have I ever done something I didn't want to?"

Pinky's about to point out the countless of times Sabeltann has eaten Skalken's decaying rat soup but bites his tongue. Comparing himself to _that_ is a step too low. "You mean it?" he asks instead. Sabeltann just looks at him – _really_ looks, his eyes soft, his hands tender. "You mean it," Pinky concludes.

"Yes." Sabeltann touches their foreheads together gently, skin against skin, breaths mingling. They sit there for a long moment, and then Sabeltann sighs, pulling back. "It's getting late. We should get back to the ship."

Taking the hint, Pinky nods, climbing to his feet before helping Sabeltann stand.

"We can talk more about – _marriage_ ," says Sabeltann, and his voice rises and nearly breaks against the word, but it's in a _good_ way, "later… okay?"

And Pinky leans against him, fingers tangling in his, and whispers, "okay." He glances up at him; at his hair falling freely down his back, his eyes gleaming in the distant moonlight; at his lips, crooked in a tender smile. "Thank you," Pinky says.

The tender smile turns puzzled. "For what?"

 _For loving me_. "For everything."


End file.
